


The Day Thistle Baggins Met a Dwarf

by SapphireShelle91



Series: Stoneflower [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwobbits, Female Bilbo Baggins, Gen, Past Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Thistle Baggins, mainly fluff with a side of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireShelle91/pseuds/SapphireShelle91
Summary: Thistle Baggins was on an adventure.She was going to see the world, steal the treasure, rescue the damsel in distress from the foul beast, and do a great many other things one was expected to do on an adventures before returning home for supper, trailing mud and fireflies in her wake.
Series: Stoneflower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018954
Comments: 9
Kudos: 70





	The Day Thistle Baggins Met a Dwarf

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 18/11/2020: So this is me, once again, writing something new (and possibly ongoing) for the Hobbit Fandom instead of focusing my energy on my three still on-going, not complete, Hobbit stories. To be honest, this year, I haven't been focused on any one writing project, I've started at least 5 new stories for different fandoms, plus jumping around to write fics that I've writing on and off for years.
> 
> I'm posting this fic because it honestly could be read a one-shot (Just a heads up for any new readers of my work, for those who haven't read my other Hobbit fics, I write a lot of Fem!Bilbo - which if that's not your cup of tea, as well as shipping her with a male Thorin, that's totally fine, but this fic is probably not for you though, those things aren't really... they're not the focus in this fic, let's just say without giving too much away), but it is planned to be a part of a series of one-shots and short chapter fics.
> 
> This fic is set several years after the events of The Hobbit (around ten-fifteen years).

Thistle Baggins was on an adventure.

She was going to see the world, steal the treasure, rescue the damsel in distress from the foul beast, and do a great many other things one was expected to do on an adventures before returning home for supper, trailing mud and fireflies in her wake.

Normally she would have a company of brave companions with her on her great quest, except… she pulled a face and ploughed onward, deeper into the Old Forest.

Who needed companions on quests? She was doing just fine on her own thank you very much!

But as was the case when such thoughts crossed one’s mind, her foot caught upon a root – and she was certain it hadn’t been there before! – and sent her stumbling forward with a cry.

She hit the earthy ground with a thump that did not hurt her so much as gave her a great fright due to a sudden fall.

She lay on her belly for a moment or two to give her wits time to recover, before she rolled herself over and sat up, brushing down her dirty front.

She wiggled her nose thoughtfully as she looked around her and… she didn’t know where she was.

She quickly jumped to her feet but made certain to be turn slowly on the spot she stood, staring at the trees that surrounded her – and did they seem to be creepy ever closer to her?

Everyone in Brandy Hall knew the Old Forest was haunted but… Thistle had not be afraid of the forest before today, but then before today she had never come in so deep, nor by herself.

She gave up trying to find a familiar tree and instead turned her attention to the forest ground, trying to see if she might find some hint of her epic travelling, but frustratingly no.

She had not worn her boots today – her bare feet were not at all pleased with her about this decision either. Running about on soft grass was well enough barefooted but traipsing around a forest where sticks and roots littered the ground everywhere was quite another! But she had been in such a hurry and putting boots on was such a hassle! – and so she had left no imprint in the forest soil.

She bit her lip as fear started swirling in her gut.

She should not have left the path, but what adventure does one find on a path? None, so she had left it and now… and now…

She shook her head, forcing back the tears that threaten to fall.

No, no, she would not cry. Brave adventurers did not cry when they were lost, they-they looked about and-and found their way again.

Thistle nodded her head in a resolute manner.

She may be lost, but she refused to stay lost.

Yes, yes she would find her…

She froze when she saw a tall figure standing only a little ways from her, watching her with sharp blue eyes.

Though maybe what was most curious about the figure was just how long they wore their dark hair and oh(!) they had a beard!

“You’re a dwarf!” She exclaimed excitedly as her fear and apprehension over being lost and meeting a stranger in the Old Forest quickly faded.

The dwarf mouth twitched ever so slightly, but behind his beard it was hard to tell if he was smiling or grimacing.

But though he looked quiet fearsome – she could see a great sword strapped to his back, along with a wicked looking axe – he spoke quite gently;

“And you are a hobbit.”

“Uh huh.” She gave him her widest, brightest smile that has gotten her out of trouble many a time.

The dwarf did not smile back. In fact, he appeared to be frozen in place, staring at her with an almost pained expression.

Her smile dropped and she bit her lip.

“I’m Thistle.” She said, suddenly remembering her manners and wondered if maybe that was why the dwarf looked so pained, because she had forgotten them. “Thistle Baggins. Well,” She toe-d the forest dirt, wondering if it was considered even ruder to introduce oneself to a dwarf by their nickname? “Thrisa, actually. Imm’a Thrisa Baggins, but…” She hurried on quickly when she saw the dwarf expression became even more stricken, “everyone calls me Thistle, so you can too, if you wanna.”

She rather thought he didn’t.

In fact, Thistle was fairly certain the dwarf wanted nothing more to do with her with how he was now looking at her.

She was always being told that she spoke quicker than her manners could keep up with, and clearly she had done it again, and ruined her chances of having an actual conversation with an actual dwarf!

“Sorry. Mamma says I speak b’fore I finish thinking and I can come off quite rude. Imma not trying to be. Rude I mean, I just… I talk real fast when Imma excited. And I’m excited cos you are a real dwarf and I’ve always wanted to meet one, but-but I’m, I’m not allowed. I think it’s because Mamma and Papa are worried that I’ll annoy them, a dwarf I mean, because I talk too much and I have questions, so many questions, and that-that can be annoying. I annoy people from talking lots and-and the questions. Am I annoying you? I can stop talking. I’ll stop.” She forcibly pressed her hand over her rambling lips to shut herself up.

For several moments, there is silence, and Thistle and the dwarf simply stood staring at each other, Thistle with her hand pressed firmly over her mouth while the dwarf… the dwarf flexed his fists, opening and closing them, before he took a deep breath as he closed his eyes.

Then he did something quite unexpected.

He chuckled.

It was a deep sound, nothing like the chuckle she can pull from her papa when she is being particularly ridiculous, but despite it difference to her papa’s chuckle, she had the feeling the dwarf was laughing at her for much the same reason.

“No,” the dwarf said finally, his voice still soft, deep and filled with old sadness, “I do not find you to be annoying.”

“Oh,” her hand dropped from her mouth as she let out a big gush of air of relief. “That’s good. I don’t try to be annoying, but apparently I just am, but I’m real glad that I ‘aven’t annoyed you yet.” She beamed up at him.

Again, she thinks she sees his lips twitched from beneath his dark beard, but once more she could not tell if he was smiling or grimacing.

“So, you are a Baggins still then.” The dwarf mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Uh huh, all my life.” She paused cocking her head to one side thinking, “Do you know many Baggins? Oh! Oh!” She started hopping excitedly from one foot to the other, “Are you one of the dwarves? One of Aunt Bilbo’s dwarves? Apparently they come to Shire from time to time, but I’ve never met any one of them. Are you one of them? Are you looking for her? Aunt Bilbo, I mean?” She shot him a very sorry look as she added more quietly, “Did the others who have come before not tell you that she never came home? It’s why Mamma doesn’t like dwarves very much, because Aunt Bilbo was Mamma’s favourite cousin and she never came home after she ran out her door on her wedding day all them years ago.”

She heard the dwarf let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes squeezed shut as if he were fighting back tears, but that was just silly, for who had ever heard of a dwarf crying?

“Are you?” She wiggled closer to the dwarf when time seemed to stretch and the quietness of the forest was beginning to bother her once more.

“Am I, what?” the dwarf looked down at her with bright blue eyes.

“One of Aunt Bilbo’s dwarves?” Thistle repeated as patiently as she could in her excitement.

For a long moment, the dwarf stared directly into her eyes, his blues seeming to stare into her very soul.

Then he looked away and shook his head.

“No, I am not. But I have heard of her. I’m sorry to hear that she never returned home.”

“Yeah.” Thistle agreed pushing down her disappointment at the news that this wasn’t one of Aunt Bilbo’s dwarves, “me too. I would have liked to have met her. Mamma tells a good many stories about her and her mamma, Belladonna. But Bilbo, Aunt Bilbo,” Thistle started to grin as she thought of the legendary hobbit lass, “apparently went on an honest to goodness adventure, with dwarves and – and a Wizard! And no one round ‘ere ever does that! But she did! And-and I want to know!” She started to squirm as she always did when she was desperate for a good story or for her Mamma’s famous apple and berries sweet pie and cream, “I wanted to know what she did, what she saw! I wanted to hear all about…”

“She never came home.” The dwarf cut in softly making Thistle settle down her jiggle to stare up at him. “She went on an adventure and she never returned.”

“Just cos she never come home, don’t mean she’s dead!” Thistle grumbled though she could see from the look the dwarf was giving her; this argument would be shut down as quickly as it was whenever she started it with her parents.

“Do you truly believe that if she still lived, she would go so long without sending word to her family here, to reassure them that she was alive and well? Do you not think she would come back and visit your mother, to meet you?”

Thistle huffed, lowering her head as she dug around in the dirt with her big toe.

“Going on an adventure is not so great a thing. Far better for you to live your life, safe and sound, here in the Shire.”

“But I don’t fit in.” The words slip out before she can stop them and her cheeks burn when the dwarf gaze comes to rest upon her again.

“You do not?”

“No…” She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m… different. I’ve always been different – Mamma says it because I’m special, but… I don’t feel special. I feel… slow and dumb, big and heavy.” She scrubbed at her face with her hand. “I feel like I move at a different pace to everyone else, a step behind or something. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Mamma and Papa say it will get better when I’m older.” She shot him a helpless look, “but what if it doesn’t? What if it gets worse?”

The dwarf sighs heavily and now Thistle is certain she has annoyed him enough that he will leave without even saying goodbye.

But he surprises her instead by dropping the pack on his back onto the forest floor and started riffling through it. After a moment, he pulled out a small pouch and after a moment hesitation, he handed it to her.

“Present?” She asked feeling some of her fear and sadness melt away as she took the pouch from him eagerly.

“Oh,” she said pausing in her reach for the pouch, “I’m not meant to take things from people I don’t know.” _Not meant to talk with them neither_ , she added with a wince already imaging the scolding she will be getting from her Mamma when she got home.

“Frerin. I am Frerin.” Now she is certain the dwarf, Frerin, is smiling at her.

“Oh, well, ok then.” She took the offered pouch. It felt very light and the leather of it was beautifully smooth and a deep blue – her favourite shade of blue actually – In colour. “May I open it?” She asked politely.

“You may.”

With quick fingers, she pulled the string that held the pouch closed before steeping it contents into her open palm.

“Oh!” She exclaimed for what smoothly slid out was a silver pendent – a little bigger than her thumb – attached upon a fine silver chain. Carefully engraved upon the pendant was, strangely, a tree that appeared to be sprouting from an acorn. She did not think dwarves cared so much for plants and trees, but then, she knew very little about dwarves really, outside of fae stories and general gossip she heard when in the markets with her parents.

On the other side, were carved a series of odd symbols – dwarven runes maybe? – but Thistle could not make out what they meant.

“It’s so pretty. Can I- can I really have this?”

“Yes,” Frerin said softly, his eyes shadowed as he looked at the pendant in her palm, “it is yours.”

Beaming, she quickly pulled the chain over her head and the pendant fell to rest half way down her chest.

“Though, I advise,” Frerin said his tone now soundly almost like Mamma’s when she was giving a warning to Thistle about not climbing a tree so high or playing so close to river or stream after a heavy storm – even though Thistle can swim just fine thank you very much. Better than most hobbits, a fact that pleased her greatly, “you follow your parents teaching regarding taking presents from strangers. There are many unkind folk in this world and I would have you not be hurt by them because you are too trusting.”

“Oh… ok.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Frerin gave a short nodded before turning his head to the sky, frowning at the growing darkness.

“Come, I will return you to Hobbiton.” He said and started to march forward though he quickly stopped when Thistle giggled.

“Silly, I don’t live in Hobbiton, I live in Buckland.”

“But you are a Baggins.” Frerin replied sounding confused.

“Well, yes, Papa and I am… and Mamma too, by marrying Papa. And yes, most Baggins do live up in Hobbiton, but we don’t. Buckland is our home.

“But Bag-End…” Frerin started before shaking his head even as Thistle cocked her head at him curiously.

He knew of Bag-End? But then, why not, it was the most famous of all hobbit holes in the Shire, even if it now stood empty and vacant, who was to say a dwarf hadn’t heard of it outside the Shire.

“No one lives there no more, not since Bungo Baggins died. The Sackville-Baggins are real peeved that they can’t live there.” She paused thinking that over, because it was odd, why couldn’t they live there? No one else lived there, so why couldn’t they?

Oh, who cared! They were horrid hobbits anyway!

“Maybe one day Bilbo Baggins heir will come to live there.” Frerin said, as he looked at her with an almost wistful expression.

“Maybe.” Thistle replied though she was doubtful. Aunt Bilbo did not have any heirs that Thistle was aware of. She hadn’t had any children before she left on her adventure and in her last will… well, Thistle did not know what was in Aunt Bilbo’s last will, but it obviously hadn’t name anyone her heir, or they’d be living there now.

She toyed with the pendant as they walked. They stopped numerous times, mainly due to Frerin looking up at the sky and at trees, though Thistle had no clue what he was doing.

“So why are you here?” She asked as they walked.

“Why are you here?” He replied as he held back a branch for her.

She puffed out her chest.

“On an adventure.”

“In the Old Forest, by yourself?”

“You are!” She retorted, “You’re in the Old Forest, by yourself.”

“Aye, I am. But I was trying…” He shook his head then, “it matters not now. The reason I came here is, well…”

She noticed his hand moving beneath his coat for a brief moment, a flicker of pain crossing his face before his expression returned to a grimace.

“You really are one of Aunt Bilbo’s dwarves aren’t you?” Thistle guessed as she pressed her hands to her hips, “but you’re worried that folk will be unhappy to see you, so you thought to come into the Shire via the Old Forest, even though it ways away from Hobbiton.”

Frerin let out a short, unhappy sort of laugh.

“You are a clever one. And yes, you are right, on all counts.”

Thistle started to let out an excited squeal when Frerin held up his hand.

“But I fear that is all I wish to say on the matter.”

“But-but… you knew her! You knew Aunt Bilbo! Your one of her dwarves! You-you…” she stopped when she saw the pained expression enter Frerin’s face again and felt her words die.

She bit her lip.

“Did you… were you there? When she died? Is that why you don’t want to talk about her?”

“No, I was not there.” He said quietly, the pained expression never leaving his face, “None of our company was, but I know,” he looked down at her now, “I know that when she passed, she was not alone, she was with… friends.” Thistle frowned at the way Frerin said ‘friends’ as if he thought whoever had been at Aunt Bilbo’s side in her last moments were not worthy of calling ‘Friend’.

“Did you not like them, those who were by her side when she…”

“No, I…” He shook himself, “It matters not what I think, they were folk she considered friends, and that is what matters. All that matters.”

“You cared about Aunt Bilbo a great deal, didn’t you?”

Frerin let out a long, deep breath as he came to a stop, as if her question took all the strength to move forward away from his limps.

“Yes, I did. Dearly. We all did.”

“You should come and meet Mamma and tell her that!” Thistle said as they slowly started walking again. She was surprised when she noticed that sometime during their talking, they had found the path that Thistle had so sorely lost hours ago, “She seems to be of the mind that Aunt Bilbo’s dwarves did not care for her and-and I think it would help her, lots, if she heard that that wasn’t true.

“I do not think that that would be wise.” Frerin sighed heavily.

“Why?”

But Frerin only shook his head and refused to say more.

Thistle fiddled with her new pendant again, before sneaking a glance back at Frerin.

“Why did you give me this?” She asked as she held out the pendant.

“It is a talisman, to bring you luck and to give you strength during your hours of need.” Frerin replied before adding in a grave tone, “I have never been very good with words, or offering comfort, but that talisman,” he pointed to her pendant, “the runes on the back of it, if you show it to any passing dwarf, they will know that you are a friend of dwarven kind and will answer any question you might have or assist you with any travels you wish to undertake.”

“Oh… why?”

“Because you know that you are different and already feel that you do not belong because of it. These feelings will only grow with time, along with questions that cannot all be answered within the rolling hills of the Shire.”

“I don’t understand.” Thistle replied, feeling as she did in the classroom, slow and dumb, miles behind everyone else in the lesson.

“No.” Frerin large, weather worn hand came to rest upon her head, “no, and I think it will be many more years before you do.”

“Because I’m stupid?” Her shoulders sagged.

“No, not because your stupid.” He gently caught her shoulders, and turned her to him, “you are not stupid. As you said before, you are simply moving at a different pace to others, but there is nothing wrong with that. Move at your own pace for however long you need. In time, you will get your answers you seek.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“Ok.” She shot him another bright smile, which only grew when she looked ahead and saw that the trees were starting to thin and she could see the High Hay, the great hedge that protected much of Buckland from the vengeful trees in the Old Forest.

“Impressive.” She heard Frerin say by her side, and Thistle felt like puffing her chest out in pride, only…

“Thistle Baggins!”

“Oops!” Thistle looked up at Frerin sheepishly as she saw her mother come running up the path, followed by several family members, “Hi Mamma!”

She was immediately engulfed by her mother’s arms where she was both sobbed over and scolded in equal measure (how embarrassing! She hoped Frerin would not think less of her because of her mother’s antics.)

“Mamma! I’m fine!” She tried valiantly to push away her mother’s arms to sneak a look at Frerin, who was watching the scene with a soft but wistful expression to his face.

“Fine, she says.” Thistle hears her mother huff, “Gone for hours, lost…”

“I wasn’t lost! Not really! And Frerin helped me back.”

“Who…” She felt her mother stiffen, her arms tightening to almost strangle hold around Thistle.

“Mamma!” She squirmed unhappily in her mother’s strong embrace. “Mamma, let me go!”

“I meant her no harm.” She heard Frerin say softly. “I only desired to return her safely to where she belongs.”

“That’d be first.” She hears her Uncle Rory say, his tone angry and she thinks it is anger that has fuelled his bravery because normally he would never think to speak to someone so heavily armed as Frerin.

She watched as Frerin lowed his head in regret.

“Why are you here?” Her Mamma’s voice was shaking, but firm, almost accusing.

“Not for the reason you seem to believe that I am.” Frerin replied, his gaze flickering to her and Thistle is once fighting against her mother’s strangle hold. “I came to return this. It belongs – it belonged to Bilbo Baggins and it is only right that it should be returned to her family and home.”

He pulled from beneath his coat a small, leather backpack. Thistle did not think it looked all that impressive, but in saying that, backpacks were meant to carry things, so… what was inside of it? She wanted to see.

“You came… all this way, from your-your great mountain,” her mother spluttered in anger and pain, “after all these years, to return Bilbo’s backpack!?”

“Yes.”

“You-You…”

“Prim.” Thistle and her mother looked to Uncle Rory, whose hand come to rest upon Thistle’s mother’s shoulder, “Take Thistle home. She has had a big day and it is near nightfall.”

For a moment, Thistle thinks her mother might protest, but then she nods and taking Thistle by the hand – and not before shooting a furious look back at Frerin – she started to lead Thistle away from the group.

“Wait Mamma, I wanna say goodbye to Frerin! He helped me and it would be rude not to thank him.” Her mother pursed her lips and the grip on Thistle’s hand was almost painful, before she gave a short nod.

“But only a moment. You are in a great deal of trouble, young lady.” Her mother told her firmly and Thistle gave her mother her best smile, before hurrying back to Frerin.

“Thank you for helping me get unlost.” She said as she came to stand in front of him, hating how sad he looked as he stared down at her. “And for listening to me ramble and not get annoyed by my talking and questions and – just thank you for – for everything. I hope-hope I can see you again.”

“I hope so too.” Frerin replied despite the grumbles from hobbits around them.

Thistle ignored them (as she so often did) and after a moment’s thought, she stepped forward and hugged Frerin, despite the surprised yelps from around them.

It was strange, hugging Frerin, because it was rather like hugging Papa, only different because the body she was hugging was far bigger and firmer than her Papa’s, with strength implied to be every line of his being. But it was nice; it felt safe, like nothing in the world could ever harm her, so long as she was within arms reached of Frerin.

One of his beaded braids brushed against her face and without thinking, she caught it between her fingers and gave it gentle tug. That only seemed to tighten Frerin’s embrace of her, not hard, it did not hurt, if anything, the feeling of being home only grew stronger.

But then he was releasing her and strangely, he was handing her Bilbo’s backpack instead of handing it to Uncle Rory before he was sending her back towards her mother, who looked torn between being very angry and heartbroken.

So that her hands might be free, she pulled on Aunt Bilbo’s backpack onto her back – it was heavier than it looked so her mother had to help, which did not seem to please her but Thistle refused to hand the pack over – before she turned to wave at Frerin, and was absolutely delighted when he waved back.

“Mamma?” Thistle said after a very long silence of walking through the brick tunnel that led through the hedge from the Old Forest to Buckland. “What will happen to Frerin? He was only helping me.”

“I imagine your uncle will give him leave to pass through the High Hay and then send him on his way. If he is speaking the truth, he has done what came to the Shire to do.” Her mother replied stiffly, and Thistle ran her fingers over the straps of the pack on her back.

“Honestly Thistle, what were you thinking, sneaking into the Old Forest?”

“It was day time and… I’m not scared of the Old Forest Mamma, I’m really not!”

“This… Thistle, it does not matter if you are not scared of the Old Forest, it is a very dangerous place to go into, even with a group… to go alone…” her mother stared down at her with frighten eyes.

“I’m sorry Mamma, really I am. I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just… I want to go on an adventure.” She watched her mother rub her face tiredly and bit her lip.

“I won’t do it again… promise Mamma, I’ll keep my ventures in the Shire.”

“And will you Thistle, keep that promise? Or are you simply saying that to make Mamma feel better?”

Thistle opened her mouth, ready and willing to promise that she really would keep her adventures to the rolling hills of the Shire, only… the words appeared to become stuck in her throat and no matter how she tried, she could not speak the words her mother clearly wished to hear.

Thristle hung her head at her mother’s sigh and neither spoke another word on the word home, nor when Papa came across them with his search party, though Thistle happily accepted his hug. He spoke little, just hugged her close for a long while until dusk truly fell upon them.

Thistle let Mamma fill Papa in about Frerin, for once not bothering to eavesdrop upon their hushed conversation they shared after they bathed, fed and put Thistle to bed.

She had wanted to protest when Mamma had taken Aunt Bilbo’s pack away from her, but one look at her mamma’s face that all protest that night would fall upon dead ears. She consoled herself with the promise to herself to ask about it later, in a day or two, once she was forgiven for this little misadventure – her parents could rarely stay angry with her for long and most request she made were usually granted if she worked on them long enough.

Thistle lay in her bed, sleepy but not yet quite ready to sleep, curiosity over her new pendant keeping her tired eyes open as she traced out the carving of the tree with her finger in the faint moonlight.

She turned the pendant over and stared at the ruins carved upon the back.

Did the ruins truly mean what Frerin had said they did? That, if she were to meet another dwarf and show them her pendant, they would know her as a friend of dwarves and answer any question she might have – and oh, she had many! – and, oh would they really assist her with any adventures she might wish to undertake in the future?

Oh, that would be wonderful! To think how far she could travel if she were to have a dwarf companion! It would be almost as incredible as traveling with a wizard!

As she fought back a yawn, she couldn’t help but wonder if this pendant had been meant for her Aunt Bilbo, and if so, why had she needed such a pendant? Hadn’t she already been considered a friend of dwarves? Though hadn’t Thistle heard Mamma mutter darkly to Papa, in the late hours of night, well after Thistle bedtime, that something terrible had happened between Aunt Bilbo and dwarves, leaving Aunt Bilbo heartbroken and unable to return home?

Maybe this pendant had been meant to make amends, like when Thistle had to help Mamma make a sweet pie for the family of whichever child Thistle had had her latest fight with, to say that she was sorry for punching them in the lip after they had made fun of her nose and small, hairless feet.

Yes, Thistle thought sleepily and rather sadly, that must be what this pendant had been for. It made Thistle all the more sad that Aunt Bilbo wasn’t around to receive it – though it would have also made Thistle sad if she was, a different kind of sad, because it would have meant she would not have received her pretty pendant – for Thistle was not at all fond of unhappy ending to stories.

Clutching the pendant tightly in her closed fisted, Thistle last thought before she slipped into a restful slumber, was that her story would have a happy ending, she would have her adventures, see the world and at the end of it, find the place where she truly belonged.

That thought made her smile as she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note 18/11/2020: First off, thank you for reading this fanfic. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> And I guess secondly, would you like to read more? I'm rather fond of Thistle and wouldn't mind writing a little more for her, and I hope you might like to read more about her too. I hope this little one-shot has been enough to make you curious about her and where her story might go.
> 
> If you would like to read more or just would like to share any thoughts, comments are much loved.
> 
> Again, thank you for taking the time to read this fic


End file.
